| |
| GAMARRA is a dainty steed, | |
| Strong, black, and of a noble breed, | |
| Full of fire, and full of bone, | |
| With all his line of fathers known; | |
| Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, | 5 |
| But blown abroad by the pride within! | |
| His mane is like a river flowing, | |
| And his eyes like embers glowing | |
| In the darkness of the night, | |
| And his pace as swift as light. | 10 |
| |
| Look,—how ’round his straining throat | |
| Grace and shifting beauty float! | |
| Sinewy strength is on his reins, | |
| And the red blood gallops through his veins; | |
| Richer, redder, never ran | 15 |
| Through the boasting heart of man. | |
| He can trace his lineage higher | |
| Than the Bourbon dare aspire,— | |
| Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, | |
| Or O’Brien’s blood itself! | 20 |
| |
| He, who hath no peer, was born | |
| Here, upon a red March morn: | |
| But his famous fathers dead | |
| Were Arabs all, and Arab bred, | |
| And the last of that great line | 25 |
| Trod like one of a race divine! | |
| And yet,—he was but friend to one | |
| Who fed him at the set of sun, | |
| By some lone fountain ’fringed with green: | |
| With him, a roving Bedouin, | 30 |
| He liv’d,—(none else would he obey | |
| Through all the hot Arabian day,)— | |
| And died untam’d upon the sands | |
| Where Balkh amidst the desert stands! | |
| |
